


All I Want is to See You Smile

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek sucks at being romantic, M/M, fuck yeah awkward romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles thinks if there was a documentary based on his life it would be helpfully titled ‘Unsuccessful and ADHD Suffering Virgin Yet Again Fails to Grasp the Concept of Life and It’s Qualms.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want is to See You Smile

**Author's Note:**

> I am posting an alarming amount of fic today. I do apologize. Title was taken from the Fleetwood Mac song 'Don't Stop' and thank you to Rosie for the beta!

The thing is, Derek sucks at being romantic. And it’s not in the cute, misguided way that could be written off as being adorable, but rather in the way that is sincerely creepy, like creepy to the point that if Stiles wasn’t so hopelessly in love with him it might have him inclined to move to Canada. Or somewhere equally as far away from Beacon Hills, because Derek is starting to scare the  shit out of him.   
  
But, it is actually kind of cute, in a totally twisted way. But Stiles can do twisted–he’s a pretty twisted dude himself. He thinks Derek is honing in on this and is embracing it on a totally new and disturbing level.   
  
It starts when Derek invites him over to his place. And yeah, Stiles would be lying if he had said the first thing that crossed his mind wasn’t related to Derek experimenting on just  how many ways he could kill Stiles, but he accepted regardless. Stiles is a stupid, reckless teenager, and kind of thirsts for all things dangerous.   
  
He’s sixteen, okay, it’s not like you can exactly _blame_ him.   
  
Plus, the possibility that Derek would actually kill him when his father is an armed and dangerous sheriff that will have no trouble avenging his son’s death (painfully, might he add) probably shoots that horse in the face, anyway.   
  
He doesn’t think it’s a date, not really, so he dresses normally in a plaid overshirt that’s covering an old Star Wars t-shirt he’s had since the eighth grade–that magically still fits him because Stiles grows like how Scott reaches puberty: not at all. Stiles thinks if there was a documentary based on his life it would be helpfully titled ‘Unsuccessful and ADD Virgin Yet Again Fails to Grasp the Concept of Life and It’s Qualms’ because long titles just sound a hell of a lot cooler.   
  
Derek answers the door with a pinched up expression on his face, his pale eyes gleaming at Stiles’ like there’s a prime meal laid out before him (Stiles) but he doesn’t know how to eat it (thank you, Jesus). Derek’s leather jacket is pulled across his shoulders, tight in the way that is starting to look uncomfortable. Stiles is 99.9% sure that Derek wore a leather jacket this small so it would bring Stiles’ attention to his ridiculous shoulders.   
  
Stiles is  also 99.9% sure that the smug bastard has achieved his goal.   
  
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Stiles asks, because he’s starting to realize that, yeah, this actually might be a date, and he’s totally unprepared for this shit.   
  
Derek doesn’t make a move, simply saying, “Stiles,” as a form of greeting, because apparently badass Alpha werewolves can’t actually say hello.   
  
Stiles shoves past him instead because be’s pretty sure he can get away with it  without getting slaughtered, plus he has 911 on speed-dial and he’s seriously not afraid to use that to his advantage if he needs to. Derek just lets him through, without a growl or anything, and Stiles might have applauded him if Derek wasn’t acting so weird.   
  
He’s never seen Derek act like this, not even when he adjusting to his ultra new and useful Alpha powers. Stiles wonders fleetingly if Derek is constipated.   
  
“Aren’t you going to, you know, actually join me?” Stiles tries, and when he’s met with silence again, says, “You know, when you asked me out on a date–” Because yeah, it’s definitely a date now. “–I didn’t expect it to go like this. I thought there would be hardcore werewolf sex that might or might not have led to post-coital cuddling.”   
  
He doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, if it even makes  sense , because he’s gotten to the point where rambling sounds better than silence–his voice is pretty nice, anyway, so it’s not like there’s a problem there–and Derek still hasn’t moved away from the door, gripping the knob like a vice.   
  
“Derek,” Stiles says, “Get your ass over here right now before I punch you in the face and drag you into the woods to have my way with you.”   
  
Derek still doesn’t move.   
  
“Fine,” Stiles sighs. “I’m going to go up to burn all of your stupidly expensive hair produc–”   
  
Derek is suddenly right in his face and he shoves him against the couch.  Yes , Stiles thinks happily, they’re finally getting  somewhere . “You touch my hair products,” he growls, “and I’ll eat your face.”   
  
“If that was supposed to be a threat then you failed miserably. That just sounds enticing,” retorts Stiles.   
  
Needless to say, Derek spends the entire night on the couch  across  from Stiles and they don’t even touch. Not once.   
  
*   
  
The second time, Derek invites him out to dinner.   
  
Stiles accepts, because for some odd and unexplainable reason he thinks that Derek is still utterly attractive, and kind of adorable in the “I’m-about-to-eat-you-for-breakfast-but-I-don’t-know-how-to-do-that” kind of way. What can he say, Stiles is a sucker for sentimental bullshit.   
  
He actually dresses up this time, because he has the sneaking suspicion that Derek might have been feeling nervous, and maybe if Stiles dresses the part, than Derek might  act it. Stiles is seriously dying from the lack of lip-to-lip contact, and if he has to have one more angry right-hand-to-cock jerk off session, he think he might  actually die.   
  
Derek picks him up around eight, and he ends up driving them to some quaint looking restaurant that looks normal. Stiles is impressed.   
  
“Derek, I’m impressed,” Stiles says, just in case Derek didn’t know.   
  
Derek throws a pinched up, angry looking scowl at him, before getting out and leaving Stiles to his own door.   
  
How rude.   
  
Stiles gets out without a fuss, though, because he would’ve been stupid to not know that Derek was a little rough around the edges, that, even with his Adonis like attractiveness and his amazing, expensive car, he probably didn’t have much more experience with dating than Stiles did.   
  
Stiles bumps shoulders with Derek and says, “They better have dessert.”   
  
Derek rolls his eyes, but leads Stiles into the place anyway. And that’s when things start going  horribly .   
  
The restaurant is…well, it’s disturbing, to say the least. There are bats and creepy cowboy looking mannequins scattered throughout the main room, and he’s pretty sure that this is one of those type of cult places that people warn you about. The ones that offer you a chat with a wish-granting Satan for the small price of your immortal soul and make you pay for their–mostly stolen–food in your blood.   
  
Stiles is making increasingly distressed sounds, little hiccuping noises in his throat, because he may or may not see a skeleton in the corner–that may or may not be  real –and there’s that creepy music playing in the background. The type that makes you feel like an imbecile for being scared by it, whilst making you shit yourself. At the same time.   
  
“Derek,” Stiles asks slowly, “Where the  hell  have you brought me?”    
  
And then it  clicks in his head. “Oh, Christ, Derek. I’m a pagan sacrifice, aren’t I?”   
  
Derek turns to him, half confused and half perplexed. “ What? ”   
  
“You’ve brought me here to sacrifice me to a powerful Pagan God that will give you all the power you could possibly imagine so you can rule the world!”   
  
Derek narrows his eyes and scowls. “You watch too much TV.”   
  
Stiles resists the very real urge to stick out his tongue. “Hey, Supernatural is very informative, thanks.  Like, did you know–”   
  
Derek turns away, and that’s a pretty clear dismissal if Stiles has ever seen one, so he shuts up, trying not to pout.  Derek takes in the scene before them again, and he (rightfully) looks horrified. “It was normal the last time I was here,” he mutters.   
  
Stiles nods. “I’m sure it was, buddy.”   
  
And suddenly there’s a lady who looks like she uses spleen juice for lipstick and lost children’s dreams for energy in front of them, and she’s wearing an honest-to-god  cloak . She’s smiling at them like they’re the new hot and delicious item on the menu, and Stiles is seriously  not okay with that. He has officially reached the level of freaked out that is somewhere between “so-freaked-out-that-you-can’t-even-scream” and “must-scream-now-in-order-to-survive”.   
  
So obviously he’s  way too freaked to follow Derek when he bolts from the room, suddenly not so very badass Alpha werewolf, leaving Stiles to make those stupid noises in his throat. Again.   
  
Stiles ends up having to call a cab, because Derek pretty much fled the scene right after they ended up running into the creepy lady, with a mortified “I’m sorry” thrown over his shoulder.   
  
Stiles is going to end this thing even if it means shoving Derek up against a door and sucking his lungs out through his mouth.   
  
It’s  going to happen.   
  
*   
  
It all comes to a head two days later.   
  
Stiles has been spending the last two days getting annoyed and wound up about the whole Derek Situation, and there’s only so much a young man can take before he explodes, really.   
  
So, Stiles marches his utterly-cute-and-open-for-business little ass over to Derek’s house and barges in, not even bothering to knock, because he’s sure Derek heard him and has been waiting for this just as long as he has.   
  
“Derek!” Stiles totally doesn’t scream, and instead shouts like a man. “I know you’re in here, so get your stupid werewolf ass down here before I drag you out and beat you senseless.”   
  
Which Stiles would never do, of course, but if there’s one way to get through to Derek, it’s through threats. Lots and lots of threats.   
  
Derek jumps down the stairs like he’s a fucking frog, because apparently he fails to acknowledge the fact that stairs are for  walking not for jumping over–or maybe he’s trying to be impressive, and yeah, okay, Stiles might be a  little impressed–and lands with a dull thud.   
  
“I am going to kiss the shit out of you, Derek,” Stiles says, and takes that  extra step closer so they’re chest to chest. “And you’re going to kiss the shit out of me back, because we’ve been doing this for way too long.”   
  
Derek doesn’t say anything, just raises an eyebrow, almost like a challenge, and then Stiles makes this embarrassingly needy noise in his throat and is pushing forward so their lips fall together. It’s chaste and closed-mouth, and even though Stiles hasn’t kissed very many people–or  any for that matter–it’s wonderful and soft and everything that he thought it would be.   
  
He pulls away with a shit-eating grin on his face. “ There . Was that so hard, Derek?”   
  
Derek smirks, eyebrows furrowed. “I did that,” he says. “I seduced you, or whatever.”   
  
Stiles shakes his head. “No, Derek, you sat like fifty feet away from me and  then you ditched me at that creepy restaurant . With that cloak lady that wouldn’t stop touching me. With her weird voodoo doll thing. That’s not seducing! That’s freaking exile, man.”   
  
Derek shrugs, and almost looks adorably smug. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

 

Stiles is not amused. "I'm not amused," he says. "I seriously hate you so much right now."

 

"No, you don't," he says.

 

Stiles sighs, because he doesn't, he really _doesn't_. "No," he agrees. "But next time, you better take me out on a proper date or I'll kick your ass."

 

Derek just laughs, rumbly and low in his throat, and nips at Stiles' neck again. Stiles is _definitely_ on board with that.


End file.
